Secunda
by stratusfish
Summary: He had no other option but to follow her; because he couldn't survive out here alone. Here, he was helpless, out of his element; no other Career Tributes to ally with, no cornucopia to feast upon, no sponsors to aid him in his time of need. Everything he was trained for was useless out in this wilderness and all he had to hold onto was this girl. CatoxKatniss Skyrim AU
1. Distant Horizons

_I'm boycotting the ffnet xover system until they change it to the AO3 system. Or - at least I am now. I have officially joined the movement! I have a purpose in life! Wow!_

_SkyrimxHunger Games crossover, but there really isn't much Skyrim to it - aside from the location. Hell, this could have been on Tatooine or Hoth and it would have had the same effect on the plot. This entirely revolves around characters from the Hunger Games series and plots and themes from it as well. I don't think you need any knowledge of Skyrim to read this although it will give some context. _

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><p>Katniss Everdeen took a deep breath, inhaling the cutting chill that seemed to embody the very heart of Skyrim. Here, in the dense forestry, she could feel the ground beneath her and the atmosphere above, so much larger than her, and yet still so small. She needed no map or compass to direct her through the forestry, sure of her direction and location. A half-day's walk to Falkreath, a day or night to Rorikstead.<p>

There was something simple, something glorious, in traveling in the silence of solitude.

She felt empowered, confident.

There was nothing she needed, nothing she couldn't provide herself.

She walked leisurely, keeping to the shadows of the forest, path in sight. Though they were the easiest way of travel, roads this remote were normally laden with bandits and thugs, waiting for unwise travelers. At the sound of running water, she quickly turned away, moving deeper into the forest. Here, water clung in the cloying branches, a thick, wet humidity that hung on her shoulders and seeped into her clothes. The forests of Falkreath were normally mild temperature, but with the offset of winter all that was left of the normally sweltering forest was a cold dampness. She reached into her pocket for this morning's breakfast; a small knapsack of nuts.

She tracked a pack of elk for the majority of the morning, fingers drifting over half-eaten moss and the light patterning of hooved feet on the wet forest floor, smashed branches and stomped leaves.

Finally they lead her towards a small clearing.

From the increasing wetness of the ground beneath her, she guessed she was close enough to Lake Illinalta for recent flooding to seep over here. She sifted soundlessly through the trees, keeping to the shadows.

Katniss readied her bow, the enchantment sizzling to life, soft blue sparks rising in the air. She aimed her sights on one of the grazing elk, large antlers likely making for a decent sale back in Falkreath.

The hunter sucked in a breath, easing it out slowly, and then—

A sudden, loud crack echoed through the forest, startling her into letting loose an arrow. The jarring movement of her surprise had the arrow missing by inches, the deer already scattering back into the forest.

She'd have been more irritated, had she not been more focused on the abrupt, cacophonous noise.

A boy had been dropped right into the clearing, face down in the dirt.

Her instinct had her training her sights on him, weapon raised, wary of attack.

But there was no movement.

Cautiously she stepped forward, and at the first sign of movement leapt back, in one fluid motion pulling an arrow from her quiver, poised at his heart. Keen eyes swept over his form. He was unarmed, dressed in thin material dirtied from the ground. The cloth was shiny and eye-catching, seams lined with red and made predominantly of black. It didn't look like any kind of camouflage.

She lowered her bow hesitantly, crackling lightning diffused with the easing of the taught string. Her guard didn't falter however, eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

He groaned in response.

Alive, then.

A Nord, perhaps? He was pale like one, with downy, thick blonde hair—and certainly built to weather the unforgiving terrain of Skyrim. But his clothes…

He was on his knees, shakily making to stand on his legs. When he did so, his attention was diverted from her—entranced with the first thing he saw. The sky.

She stalked closer, whipping a dagger out of her belt and pinning it to his neck. "Who are you?" She asked again, viciously.

His eyes were dazed and wide, staring into the brilliant, blinding gray sky. Finally, when the blade cut against his skin, he dropped back to the world. "I—" He sucked in a mouthful of bitter cold air, looking around wildly, "I… where—what…" He swallowed. "What district is this?"

_District…? _

Her grip on her dagger faltered at the word.

"District…" She echoed slowly. Forlornly. And then, with more aggression, "Tell me who you are before I gut you like a fish."

His eyes narrowed and blazed with fire. The chords of muscles in his arms flexed with a power she wouldn't underestimate, rippling with ire at her words. So he didn't take to insult very well. With a cry he threw her arm off, only to find himself overbalanced as she deftly moved out of the path of his swing. She threw him into the dirt with practiced dexterity, using his momentum against him, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the back, ebony dagger swift and cold to the fine hairs on his neck.

He gritted his teeth, bucking against her with the strength of a cornered frost troll. But she had anticipated this, holding her ground.

"I'll ask you again." She repeated slowly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Cato." He hissed through his teeth, looking unhappy and unaccustomed to defeat. "I'm from District 2."

_But what's he doing here? _She thought wildly, mind overcome with a flurry of emotion.

_More importantly, _how _did he get here?_

"You're far away from home, Cato." She replied eventually, blindsided by his response and reeling with the repercussions of what this could mean.

He grunted, and she remembered she was pressing her knee directly opposite of his lungs, and was quick to ease off him—but certainly not to let her guard down. A kid built like that from District 2… undeniably he was a Career.

With effort, he pushed himself off of the ground. Again, his eyes caught the breathtaking vastness of the wet sky above him, and the crisp, burning cold of the air. He pulled his gaze away from the stratosphere to the girl in front of him, watching with wary eyes. She was armed to the teeth—an incredible bow strapped to her back, a quiver full of arrows. In one hand was a dark knife, but more were strapped to her thigh. Her belt was lined with packs full of items he could vaguely make out. And her face was covered in a stone mask with an unforgiving expression ossified into malachite green slate. He wouldn't have been able to tell she was a girl at all if not for the thick braid of dark hair resting on her left shoulder, and the low but undeniably feminine voice. Although, now that he could take a good look at her, her clothes _were _incredibly formfitting…

But one thing was for certain.

This was no District.

"Where am I?" He asked her, suddenly alarmed at the very prospect. And, trepidation rising, "What District is this?"

He fashioned her looking at him with an impassive gaze behind the even more impassive mask. "This isn't a District."

His fears were confirmed. "Well where the hell is this?" He shouted, feeling unsure and confused and _hating _it. They were foreign emotions to him—a boy who'd always been confident in his surroundings, and more importantly, himself. To be flung out like this, with the very ground beneath him upturned…

"This is Skyrim." She said.

As if he knew what the hell that meant.

"Skyrim?" He echoed, feeling foolish. "What is that?"

She didn't say anything in return. He wanted to rip that goddamn mask off, just to see what she was thinking—just to understand at least _something. _A cornerstone of his world had been ripped out; the Capitol and its grip were supposed to be infallible. And yet here he was, outside of any District—in _Skyrim, _apparently—and here was this girl, if she was even a girl, who quite clearly was aware of this.

"It's a place." She deadpanned, as if talking to a slow, dimwitted child.

This irritated him more. "Yeah, I fucking get that." He cursed. "But where in the fuck _is _it?"

She didn't reply.

"Where is _it_?" His voice raised with terror. "Tell me, goddammit! And how do I get back?"

This time she turned away, as if losing patience with him.

Fear boiled in his stomach, threatening to wretch right up his throat. Moments passed, and she had yet to make a reply. He felt like he was going to throw up. He'd never been comfortable with confusion—generally it led to anger, and when he got angry, people were quick to give him what he wanted.

"You can't." She replied, flatly.

A bone-numbing cold washed over him, the strength in his limbs seemed to fail him as the world dropped out from underneath him. He almost dropped to his knees, but even still he refused to show weakness.

He barely recognized that she was moving. Moving away. Not a sound was made by her silent footfalls, an unnatural quiet he hadn't yet registered. When she approached, when she took him down—she _didn't make a sound. _

Finally, before she faded into the distance—

"Wait!" He called, urging his legs to move. "Wait, _goddammit it_!"

In comparison, his feet slapped against the cobbled path and his pants rustled together with clashing sound. She didn't wait for him, didn't slow, but rather kept her even pace until he caught up with her.

"But, you know about them right?" He fell into step with her solid strides. "The Districts… you knew what I was talking about. Can you tell me how to get there? Where they are?"

They continued down the path, him without answer. She was a ways shorter than him, but then again everyone was, and a part of him grew angry again. Who was she to defy him? From here, he could see the slight cusp of her arm between the sleeve of her shirt and the beginning of her gauntlets. It was tanned, but thin. He could crush her wrist in seconds.

"Answer me you fucking—

She ducked under his wild swing, kicking him in the back of the legs and taking him down before he could fight back. She moved like lightning; swift and deadly. So much more deadly than any other Career he'd fought at the academy. This wasn't just showing off to her—this was real.

He growled into the dirt, feeling his anger rise the more she ignored him. She hadn't even _tried _to take him down, not really. This marked the second opportunity she'd had to slit his throat that she hadn't taken. Two opportunities that, had they been in the arena, would have cost him his life.

"What do you think the Capitol's gonna do to you when they find out that you're on the outside, huh?" He shot up racing after her. "What District are you from? I'll be sure to—

This time, he blocked the punch, but didn't have time to bring his guard up for the other. She connected a solid left hook to his face, picked him right off his feet. Privately he'd admit she was stronger than he'd given her credit for.

"You're not _in _a District anymore!" She shouted at him, her vague annoyance with him giving way to legitimate fury. "There is no Capitol! You're not even on Panem! Get that through your head!"

With that, she spun smartly on her heel, making route for the tree line rather than following the winding cobble road. She didn't need a path—and she'd much prefer the solitude of the wilderness than this blubbering fool. A part of her was curious as to how someone had managed to cross the barrier between the two worlds—whatever kind of barrier that may be. But mostly she didn't care to know. And this boy, this… Career from District 2 didn't belong here, didn't deserve to taint the wilds and glorious beauty of Skyrim with his very presence. He could die out here for all she cared. Hell, he probably would, considering a Career like him only knew how to brutally kill others, certainly not how to survive on his own.

"Dammit." He hissed, rubbing at his bruised jaw.

His eyes strayed to the long, infinite path for him. The road seemed to stretch for miles—the entire place seemed to stretch into the ambiguous boundaries of forever. Mountains cusped into the blinding sky, towering over him and instilling within him a vague sense of intimidation. Everything here was so foreign, so wild. Nothing manmade was in sight but this road, which unlike the ones back home, didn't seem to overpower nature, rather, conformed to it.

And he knew, laced with his frantic, racing heartbeat was the truth.

He couldn't survive out here.

He jumped to his feet.

"Wait—!"

Cato stumbled into the forest after her, his eyes training amongst the foliage for any sign of movement. Any sound of it. But there was nothing, and he recalled her brown outfit and how unfortunate it was she was wearing it. She blended right in.

"I'm sorry!" He called loudly, into the forest, even though the words burned his pride. "I'm sorry! Please, just _wait_!"

He staggered onwards in the dense forestry, legs scraping against the shrubbery at his legs, the forest loud beneath him. He couldn't hear anything beside himself. Couldn't see anything aside from the camouflage of thick trees. He squinted into the dim lightning, cursing himself but mostly the world for this predicament. How did he even get here? He couldn't recall it now—too busy on trying to find his last link to survival. Last link to home. Nothing looked even vaguely familiar. He knew what a forest was, sure, but he'd never really _been in one. _Or in one that didn't end in a few meters with a giant, metal wall anyway.

"How do you intend to find something making such a racket?"

It seemed his search had been in vain.

A calm figure leaned against a large trunk, surmising him coolly with that blank, unnerving mask.

He sagged in relief at the sight of her, the majority of his falsely directed animosity seeping out of him.

"I didn't think it would be this difficult." He huffed, before shaking his head. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you—

At this, she snorted.

"—I… I'm just confused and I don't understand _anything. _What the hell is going on?"

She tilted her head, pushing off the tree. "Maybe the better question is; how did you get here?"

He blinked, unsure. Without another moment, she turned swiftly and began to delve deeper into the forest.

He started. "Hey—wait come back! I thought you weren't mad at me anymore!"

"Mad at you?" She looked over her shoulder. "No. But it's almost dusk—I suggest we keep moving."

He swallowed thickly at the idea of what could lie in this forest… what predators descended on the unwary under the cover of night. He was certainly under the category of 'unwary'. He moved to follow her. "I don't know how I got here." He frowned. "I was in training. I think. At the Academy, one on one. The other guy fell pretty quick, but they weren't letting me out. I kept calling to them… I must've been in there for an hour. I thought they forgot about me, left me in there to die or something. I started freaking out, breaking shit… I hit something and the force field went down. Or I think it did. I hit my head real hard in the blast and then… I dunno."

"The force field…" She repeated, but didn't seem to be talking to him.

"Yeah. Uh, what is this, exactly? I mean, you said it's called Skyrim but… _where _is it? Is this…" His eyes widened. "District 13?"

"I told you, this is no district." She replied. "This is the province of Skyrim, on the northern part of the continent of Tamriel. To the left is High Rock, and the right, Morrowind."

As if sensing his incomprehension, she turned to look at him. "But this probably makes no sense to you. However, there isn't much else I could tell you either. Wherever the continent of Tamriel is, it is far, far away from District 2 and Panem at large. In fact, I largely believed there was no physical way to get from here to Panem."

He paused, mind reeling and going numb with shock. "So… there's no way back?"

"Not that I know of."

He looked at his hands. His clothes. He was still dressed in his Academy clothes. "Is this... is this real?"

She paused, musing darkly, "Maybe this is all just a dream…"

A part of him wanted to believe it. The majority of him, however, shook his head.

"Your punch connected pretty solid." He refuted wryly. "I think, if this was a dream that would have definitely woken me up."

Then a thought occurred to him.

"Hold on; if there's no way to get from here to Panem, how do _you _know of it?"

"That," She began quietly. "Is an even better question."

.

.

.

She didn't say anything further after that, and though it angered him greatly and all he wanted to do was physically wrench it out of her, he knew there was nothing else he could do. And that burned even more. This helplessness… it was unbecoming of him. He had no idea how to handle it. He'd never been so powerless before.

And he had no other option but to follow her.

Because he couldn't survive on his own.

He sat at the bottom of the tree, trying not to make a sound. She told him curtly that he 'breathed so loud she could shoot him in the dark', and he'd wake up half the forest with that noise.

And she was out there, somewhere, hunting game—as much a part of the forest as the trees and the animals, blending so effortlessly, so silent and swift and deadly. He begrudgingly recognized her prowess. Here, she was in her element, while he struggled for footing. But where _was _his element? Where would he have the upper hand? In the arena? He realized bitterly that the arena, the Hunger Games, were meaningless. There, thousands watched you enclosed in a relatively small area to fend for yourself. But not really. They gave food, water, shelter, supplies—all within reach. There were twenty-four other people to ally with and assist you, if you had need of them. Sure, they could kill you. But they were all just kids.

Here, he was alone. No other Career Tributes to ally with. No cornucopia to feast upon, no sponsors to aid him in his time of need. Here, not only was the forest itself out to kill you, weakening you slowly through exhaustion, poisoning you with dangerous fruit—but the wildlife itself. What was a weak District kid in comparison to a towering cave bear? Here, no weapon was gifted to him from the skies. All he had was his strength and his head.

But even those were failing him.

Cato grimaced at the wound on his arm.

Why did bears get vicious claws and humans get thin, frail skin?

You couldn't take out a bear with your bare hands.

Their scuffle with the bear lasted about two minutes. Had it been him alone, it most likely would have ended in the same duration—but with his dead corpse feasted on by the wilds of the forest. He had no doubts that, had she not been there, he'd have been dead.

She didn't have his brute strength, no, but she was swift and quick and incredibly agile, predicting the clumsy animal's movements and aiming directly for the heart. She wasted nothing but a steel arrow, which she quickly cleaned and placed back into her quiver.

Normally, she had said, she'd spend the time to skin the bear and clean the meat, keeping the pelt and claws to sell and the meat to eat. But apparently they couldn't spare the time.

"We'll want to reach Falkreath by sundown." She had said, like he knew what Falkreath was.

He looked up at a faint rustle from his left.

He'd gotten better at hearing the indistinct, almost inaudible noises she made. This one was louder, however, and curiously he stood.

Slung over one shoulder was the body of a dead fox, orange pelt dim in the dying light.

"We're eating that?" He balked, feeling a bit sick. Sure, he was hungry… but was he that hungry?

She narrowed his eyes at him. "Of course not." She replied, shortly, motioning for him to follow her.

He didn't like the idea of following anyone, but was quickly getting used to following her. At the very least, she was an equal. He'd never admit to calling her a superior, so he stayed at that. She was his equal.

She led him through the growing darkness as if she could penetrate through it. Eventually, they came to a break in the trees, a cobble path running horizontal down it. She quickly made for it, and he followed, giving a last look to the forest which had housed them for what seemed like eternity. It was almost completely dark now, and he could barely see past the first line of trees.

"What is Falkreath?" He asked, for lack of anything else to say.

"A town." Was her bland answer.

He looked up at the sky, the clouds had dissipated, leaving him breathless in their wake. Stars glittered and twinkled, speckling the gradient of Prussian blues and violets, chambray hands of light twisting for the moon from the burning horizon. And the moon—so large and overpowering in the sky, almost a sentient being of its own.

It was then, that he truly began to believe.

It was then that he knew.

He was far away from home.

.

.

BREAKBREAKBREAK

.

.

Gale picked up the snow white rabbit, looking satisfied. So far his snare trail had been giving marginal success, up until now. The pelt was fine and soft—would probably go for a lot with that coloring. "Not bad, not bad." He whistled low. "This'll fetch a decent price at the Hob, don't you think?"

Katniss rubbed at her eyes, sleep still clinging to the edges of her vision. She nodded, absentmindedly.

Gale frowned, turning towards her and contemplating her with those dark grey eyes. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." She replied, honestly. There wasn't anything physically wrong with her, at least.

"You've barely been paying attention all morning." He pointed out, looking more concerned than annoyed by this.

She shrugged, holding up a furry, dead animal. "Got this, didn't I?" Squirrels weren't the most difficult to hunt, but in winter finding one was almost a miraculous blessing.

"Barely." He was quick to add. "You looked half asleep when you shot that."

Which undeniably was true.

The hunter shrugged. "Just haven't… been getting a good sleep I guess."

Gale tilted his head. "Bad dreams?"

They neared the fence, both stilling for a moment to listen, ears straining. But the electric current was silent, nothing but the winter wind whistling far above them, twisting among the bare trees.

"I guess so." Katniss sighed.

The problem was—she didn't remember them at all. Even now, after waking up half in a daze, she couldn't pinpoint exactly what she had been dreaming about. A vast, stormy sky. Foreboding mountains, and tall, tower-like trees. And hunting.

But it continued to feel like a part of her was missing.

And she was just beginning to realize.

.

.

.

Cato woke up feeling like he'd only just fallen asleep. Dawn seemed to come too early, and even though his body felt exhausted and ready to collapse, his mind was racing and still etched with confusion and sleep wrestled away from him every time he grasped for it. He hadn't done much, honestly, aside from walk through the forest with that girl—whose name he still didn't know—and yet he felt like he'd sprinted a great distance and sparred with at least a dozen other Careers. Who knew foraging around in the forest was such a difficult, tiring ordeal.

The girl had managed to sell off the fox, bartering for some time over the price. She had a way with words, truly. A slippery, cunning tongue to match her deft and deadly aim. Though she couldn't procure a better room at the inn from the innkeeper. Apparently a marching of 'Imperial' soldiers had come through on their way to Solitude, and they were booked solid. She managed to wheedle a single room for him, but refused to stay in the same room.

It was only now that he realized she had never told him where she was going.

His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled out of the bed. He crossed the hallway with heavy strides, furtively looking about the inn. She was nowhere in sight. He raced out of the building, and into the streets now full of wakened people that hadn't been there last night. None of their haggard, worn faces looked familiar.

Children swept by his legs and he almost stumbled over them in his haste, turning down road after road, trying to spot her familiar stone mask.

He was panting by the time he found her, not from physical exertion but from terror and adrenaline shooting through his blood.

He almost didn't recognize her, aside from the magnificent and recognizable bow strapped to her back.

Her dark hair was pulled back, bobbing slightly as she moved. She was standing in front of a workbench of some kind, and belatedly he realized the loud clanging he'd heard all over town was coming from her. Next to her, a man was shoveling ores into a smelter, and a woman was at the grindstone.

She spared him a glance. "Oh, you're awake."

A part of him wanted to yell at her. The other part felt rather lame. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Um… what are you—?"

She held something out to him.

He grabbed for it immediately, hands shaking.

She snorted. "Don't get too excited."

How could he not?

It was a sword. A weapon. A way to protect himself in this foreign, dangerous world.

"It's just a steel blade—fortunately that fox pelt sold for more than I thought it would." And, appraising the way his eyes lit up as he studied the sword, "If you prove well with it, I'll make you a better one."

"Yeah?" He replied, not really listening. He was enraptured with the weapon in front of him, relieved even. It wasn't the worst blade he'd seen, not as good as the ones he'd been allowed to train with at the Academy but decent enough. A thought occurred to him, and he lowered the blade for a moment. "How'd you know I used swords?"

She shrugged. "You have the build. Unless, you'd prefer an axe?"

"An axe?" He hadn't even thought of it. "No. No this is good." He hefted it again in his hands. A decent balance to it, too.

He studied her closely.

It was then he realized she wasn't wearing that mask of hers. From here, he could almost count every freckle on her face. There weren't many, a few sprayed across her cheeks, framing the almost unnaturally light, gray colored eyes. She looked… incredibly young. With women, it was hard to tell how old they were judging from their height. He'd assumed she just had a smaller build. But looking at her youthful, lovely face, he supposed she couldn't be much older than him.

The thought made him a bit jealous—she seemed so much older than him, wiser. Better.

"Good." She nodded, unaware of his staring. "We'll leave today then."

He blinked. "Wait. Leave?" He echoed, dumbly.

Without the mask, it was easier to decipher what she was thinking. She raised a brow, looking sardonic. "You want to get home, don't you?"

At the very prospect of it, he immediately brightened. "Yes! So you know how? When can I go?"

"I don't know how." She cut in, quickly. "But—and it's a long shot—I may know someone who does."

"Who?" He was practically jumping at her.

She held her hands up, looking to push him away. "There's a college, far away from here. The Winterhold College of Mage's. I don't know much about them, and certainly I'm no mage, but they're the only ones I can think of that would have any explanation for how you ended up here. We could talk to the Archmage maybe he would know."

He frowned, feeling his excitement ebb away, leaving only a feeling of sharp, painful loss. Mostly, he wanted to lash out. It'd be _so _easy to just swing this blade and slice her in two—no. What would that accomplish? This wasn't the Hunger Games. Had he been back in District 2, arguing with his teachers, he might have. But this wasn't District 2. There was no logical reason to kill her. If anything, he'd only be floundering around further.

"Alright, how far is it?"

At this, she gave him a dubious look. And then, with a hint of a smile, she shook her head. "You're really not from around here."

He flushed indignantly, growing impatient and irritated when she didn't answer his question.

"Depends on how fast we travel." She mused. "What roads we use." At this, she gave him an appraising look. "If you can keep up with me."

That rage, again. How could this girl think she was better than him? Didn't she know who he was? "That won't be a problem." He insisted, coldly.

Thankfully, she had no other derisive words for him. "Alright. Well, we should get supplies." She handed him a small sack. "Try the market—buy anything that'll keep for a long time."

He looked around for something to do with the greatsword in his hands, eventually sheathing it onto his back. The leather holding it was uncomfortable around him, and the sword itself was incredibly heavy. But he refused to show weakness in front of her. He took the coins from her. "Where should I meet you?" He'd be sure not to make the same mistake twice. Running around half the town in fear she'd left him wasn't an event he wanted to repeat.

"The gates. Try not to take too long."

And with that, she waltzed off.

He watched her, for a moment, the graceful slide of her body as she moved, contours shifting with cat-like nimbleness. He felt heat rise to his cheeks when he noticed the blacksmith watching _him _watch her. He was about to tell the old man off when a better thought occurred to him. "Hey," He tossed over his shoulder. "You ever heard of District 2?"

The man gave him a blank look. "What now?"

"District 2. Panem. The Capitol?"

He mostly looked perplexed, but a little annoyed.

Cato sighed. "None of these are ringing a bell?"

The smithy shook his head, shoveling more rocks into the smelter, and looking like he was going to ignore him.

With that, Cato took off too, privately thankful that he _had _spent the better part of the morning searching for the girl—whose name he still did not know—and inadvertently acquainting himself with the town of 'Falkreath'. He'd never heard a name like that… but then again, there were no towns in Panem. Just Districts.

By the time he reached the market, he realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn't any idea what food to buy. He never paid attention to survival lessons in school, quite confident in the fact he'd be one of the Careers who took over the cornucopia. That, and he assumed his time in the Arena would be relatively short. With a guy like him in there, they'd get done with the rest of the Tributes in less than a week and start offing themselves, and if he died, there'd be no point in learning what foods to eat and what foods will keep anyway. Even more so if he won, because then he just wouldn't care about things like that at all.

Thankfully, after swallowing his pride and asking one of the shopkeepers to assist him, it seemed he didn't have to know after all. She picked out cured meats and dried fruit for him after he handed her the sack of coins and asked her to give him as much as was worth. She didn't look like anyone he'd seen before. People in District 2 generally were well fed, clean, and took great care in their appearance. Here, everything seemed encrusted in a layer of dirt, including the people.

Speaking of the people in Skyrim, he literally _balked _as a man with a cat's body walked past him, excusing himself as he did so.

His baffled and utter astonishment was so clear the woman handing him the food gave him a curious look.

"Never seen a Khajit before?"

"A what?" He asked, numbly, as the cat-man walked down the road, turning at the corner.

"Khajit." She repeated. "They're people from Elsweyr."

"Elsewhere?" What a funny name. "Where is that?"

She blinked at him, slowly. "…It's in Elsweyr."

He figured this wasn't going anywhere. "Have you ever heard of District 2?" He pressed on. "Panem? The Capitol?"

"Capitol?" Something in her voice sounded like comprehension. "You mean, Cyrodill?"

Cyro—what?

"No." He deflated. "Nevermind."

True to her word, his companion was waiting for him by the gates, lounging with that unflappable countenance of hers. Her mask was back on her face, leaving him with a vague sense of loss—it was incredibly difficult to relate to her when she looked as inhuman as possible. Even the guards seemed to treat her with uneasiness, pacing some feet away from her and occasionally tossing stray, wary glances at her leaning form.

He tossed the sack to her. "This good?"

She nodded, not looking at the contents, simply tying them to her belt. He had no real connection to this simple, small town of Falkreath, and yet leaving it instilled within him a slight terror—of the unknown outside of its basic, lopsided stoned walls. Everything here was so unfamiliar to him… not for the first time this morning he wondered if all of this was real. Maybe he'd just hit his head, or ate something bad, and was experiencing some serious hallucinations. And yet, the bitter chill of the wind, and the overwhelming mountains seemed to ground him in place. This was real. It had to be… even if it didn't feel like it.

They rounded around the town with the stone path, gradually climbing up with the slow incline of the winding road, until Falkreath was nothing but a small, smoky speck when he turned back round to look.

Finally, once Falkreath was completely out of sight, he trained his sights on the girl in front of him. "Are you ever going to tell me your name?"

She turned to look at him briefly, not stopping her grueling pace.

For a moment, Cato thought she wouldn't answer him at all, as she returned her unnerving mask back in front of them.

Eventually she spoke.

"Katniss. It's Katniss."

Cato blinked. It… wasn't like any kind of name he'd ever heard. It fit her aptly, somehow. Now that he knew of it, he'd never be able to think of any other name that would suit her better.

They didn't speak after that.

They trekked for some time, up until the point that Cato was almost dozing on his feet. He wasn't kidding when he had said he could keep up with her—

And then the bandits struck.


	2. Dawn

_You ask - I answer :) ah the power of reviews..._

_I had a friend read over this to see if it really was fairly intelligible even without prior knowledge of Skyrim, and she said it reads like any other fantasy novel. I could probably change all the names and things to generic stuff, but it just seemed easier to leave it Skyrim, since I was basing the AU world off of it anyway. _

* * *

><p>She made quick work of them; but let it not be said that Cato did nothing. He had his fair share of killing strikes. This, he was made for—this, he knew how to do on instinct. He could tell that she was impressed by how effectively he could hold his own, tilting her head slightly, almost appraising him in a new light. He turned away from her piercing gaze, moving to clean off the blood from his blade.<p>

He looked away, intending to continue down the path when he noticed she wasn't following.

No, she was crouched over one of the bodies, almost clerically moving around the dead man and into his—

He gaped, visibly drawing back. "What in the hell are you—

And watched with suspended disbelief as she unearthed a sack of coins from the man's pockets, and then moved to do the same from the others.

At his surprise, she looked up. "What does it look like?" She deadpanned, flatly, diverting her attention once more to her work.

"They're dead." He said, needlessly.

"Yes." She agreed. "And what good do the dead need of their coins."

He sneered. "It's disgusting."

"It's _smart._" She retorted, a bite to her words. She stood then, tucking away the excess. "I know you're from the District—but the fact of the matter is, this is no District. Here, you do whatever you can to survive—even if it's not morally correct, or ethical even." She tilted her head. "Is that not what you would do, in the arena?"

He scowled. "I suppose." He bit out, deciding she may have had a point.

With that, she sauntered off, leaving him to follow.

.

.

.

Cato didn't want to admit it, but by the time they stopped for the night, he was thoroughly exhausted. So exhausted that he plopped right down with his back against a tree and passed out on impact. He'd have been a little more horrified with himself for letting his guard down so blatantly and easily, but he'd honestly been too tired to think, let alone think on his actions.

When he awoke some time later, the omniscient, indomitable moon had besieged the night sky. There were, perhaps, a few rustling movements here and there, but aside from the long, sorrowful song of the crickets it was entirely silent.

Silent.

He bolted upright, blinking out the sleep in his eyes. He couldn't make out anything for a moment, as his eyes adjusted. Finally his vision cleared; he was still sleeping against the same tree, in the same small clearing. He reached first for his sword, feeling sweet relief when his hands met the cold, steel handle.

Then he turned his attention outwards, to all the things he could see—and then, with horror, realizing what he _couldn't_ see.

Maybe she hadn't left him to die out here, he reasoned. Why go through all the trouble of starting the journey if she was just going to kill him? Or go through the effort of making a sword for him? Right?

"If you're tired, you should sleep more."

He jumped—again—attention turning skyward at the familiar voice.

Katniss peered down at him with an unreadable expression, held aloft on the sloping arch of a tree branch. One leg dangled listlessly off the side, the other propped up to keep footing. She had her bow in one hand, ready if needed, but her other hand rested pliantly in her lap; he didn't doubt that she could draw an arrow and strike him before he could even blink, though.

Then her words caught up to him. "I'm not tired," he flushed, which was ridiculous. It was rather conclusive to see he was.

"Can you climb?" She asked, completely ignoring him.

He blinked. Could he? He'd never actually attempted to climb a tree. "Sure," he replied—it couldn't be that hard, right?

"Come up here, then," she returned, not really a question or a command.

Normally this would elicit his ire, but for some reason it doesn't. Maybe he's just learning to accept the fact that she knows far more than he does. Or maybe it just had something to do with her tone; not demanding, snide, or impertinent. It made him a lot more willing to comply.

He hoisted himself up until he was level with her branch. She scooted over so that his back was against the trunk, and she sat opposite of him, cradled in a divergence of branches. Her mask was off, he noticed. She looked even younger in the night. The wan, wintry spill of the moon drifted down the side of her face, illuminating one stormy eye; shifting patterns filtered down from the leaves.

He regarded her searchingly. "Are you not going to sleep?" He asked at length, wondering if she'd slept at all during the time he'd essentially passed out.

"I'll sleep," she answered, ambiguous as usual.

He swallowed. And then, slowly, "Do you want me to keep watch?"

"No," she returned. "We'll be fine." And then, with a hint of amusement, "As long as you don't fall off."

"I wouldn't!" He protested, even though he really had no idea. He had no empirical evidence to support or deny the claim. Well, he'd find out eventually, wouldn't he?

He watched her wander off into her dreams at some point in the night. The moment seemed timeless, caught fast beneath the noctilucent moon and the murky darkness of the night. He didn't know how much time passed as he simply sat there, wondering if he'd even be able to find sleep, watching her sleep with a fastidious eye. He wished he could join her; the night was giving him far too much time to think. What if they journey all the way to this mage, only to find that he can't help? What if he has to stay here… forever?

The prospect sounded horrifying. Far too horrifying to contemplate.

He must drift off eventually, for a sudden, algid wind brought him into a wakefulness he didn't remember leaving.

Cato jolted out of his doze, shaking his head to clear the haze. The night had long since maundered past the horizon, leaving the indeterminable dusty sky in its wake. If there was a sun in this place, it didn't seem all that interested in making an appearance. Still, the world was illuminated enough for him to make out the girl in front of him, awake, staring off into the distance.

He followed her gaze; the world unfurled endlessly around them, vast and indomitable. Terrifying. He'd never seen such continuous, unending space. He felt incredibly small in comparison—never before had the world seemed so big.

Her hand rose slowly, pointing somewhere in the indiscernible distance.

"The town of Helgen is that way," she reported. "In the shadow of the largest mountain."

Largest was an understatement. All the mountains here loomed down upon the earth like wrathful gods, yet this one towered above all the rest. The peak lay obscured in the atmospheric gray haze.

"How far is it?" He asked, warily, wondering if he truly wanted to know the answer.

She shrugged. "A day or two, perhaps."

"And what's after Helgen?"

Katniss turned to him, with a surveying glance. "Rivendell, then the plains of Whiterun. And after that we make north for Dawnstar."

He blinked, suddenly feeling very lost. "…Which way is north?" He felt very stupid for asking, but he didn't know how else he would know. He felt like this was probably explained away in some survival class, but he'd never thought it would be all that useful.

To his surprise, Katniss does not remark upon this at all—his classmates and fellow Careers certainly would, it was such a foolish question—pointing once again towards Helgen.

"That's north," she explained, keeping her gaze fixated on it. "You can always tell which direction you're going in by using the sun; it sets in the west and rises in the east."

Huh. "What about at night?"

"There are guiding stars," she answered, evasively. "I'd have to show you at night—it's a little difficult to explain."

Then she hopped right off the branch, to his unending disbelief. It wasn't exactly a short fall. She didn't even appear to acknowledge the distance though, dropping into a crouch and rising smoothly. He had a feeling that he'd break something if he tried that, and decided to just take the long way down.

"North, then?" He asked, once they were both on the ground.

She nodded. "North it is."

It quickly became apparent that Katniss was an infinite well of knowledge.

It annoyed him at first—why did she have to know everything? And be so pragmatic about it? He'd never met anyone who was so efficient, so competent and skilled. But after a while he stopped thinking of her as just another rival in the arena, and his vexation faded into general curiosity. Cato couldn't remember the last time he was so interested in learning something; mainly because whatever he was being taught normally seemed so useless. But everything Katniss did seemed to have a logistical purpose to it, and he was beginning to find himself begrudgingly impressed. He could admit to himself (privately) that if he was trapped in the arena with her he'd never have a chance of coming out alive—he didn't think anyone would.

"You're rather inquisitive," she noted, after he'd prodded her about tracking and finding footsteps on the ground.

He fidgeted slightly, "I just… wanted to know." Even to him it sounded defensive.

"There's nothing wrong with it," she pointed out, voice light.

"There is though," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Of course she heard it though; the girl must have ears like a bat. She tilted her head, slightly, as an affirmation that she heard him, but not as an indication that she expected an elaboration.

He found himself giving one anyway. "This all just seems like basic stuff I should already know," he scowled fiercely at the ground they were treading upon.

She made a noncommittal noise.

Around them, the wilderness bloomed with the flourishing signs and sounds of life. He thought if he listened closely enough, he could hear running water somewhere nearby. Though he could still see no sun, a certain diffusive glow wandered about the land as a gossamer cloak, lighting everything in a marmoreal light. He noted, almost absently, that in this brightness her hair dark hair had taken upon a striking bronze coloring; a gauntlet of gold in the otherwise unsubstantial world.

"Well, that's not entirely true," she reasoned, surfacing him from his strange thoughts. "You most likely never would have needed to know any of this."

"Something tells me you wouldn't find any difficulties holding down the cornucopia." She added, almost humorously.

But this only made him think upon another evasive answer she had given him in the past.

"How do you know?" He asked, in an about face. "About the cornucopia? About the Hunger Games? About Panem, at all?"

She doesn't answer him for some time, gazing off into the distance.

The forest has retreated and in its wake winding hills roll across the horizon, the wind casting patterns upon the wild grass. Though there was no snow, it felt frigid cold.

"I don't know," she said, at great length.

This is even more of an obscure answer than usual.

"How do you not know?" He balked, genuinely curious.

She shrugged. "I wish I could tell you," Katniss sighed. "But it's a question I've never been able to answer. Honestly, if I had something to tell you, I would. It would probably be helpful."

"So what… it's just, magic?" He hazarded.

"It's not any magic I've ever encountered, if so." She snorted. That was another thing he was surprised about.

"What kind of magic have you encountered, then?" He repositioned.

He'd noticed that there were things that were… certainly unnatural. Her bow, for instance. It lit up with a violent electricity whenever she drew it, and her arrows pierced upon flesh like a lightning strike, leaving nothing but singed ashes in its wake. He'd thought it was some kind of machine, but it was becoming apparent that there weren't many machines here. And her mask—it made him… feel something. Something ominous. It most definitely wasn't natural. And he'd seen bandits cast flames and sparks—hell, he saw a _cat person_ not too long ago.

Cato folded his arm around himself, feeling a shiver run through him.

"Spells and enchantments, I suppose," Katniss replied, idly flipping a dagger between her fingers as they walked. He kept eying it carefully, thinking she might stab herself in the toe or something, but the movement seemed far too practiced for that.

"Like on your bow?" He pressed, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

"Yeah," she agreed. "That's an enchantment. A mage can do it for you—for a price, of course."

"And the mask?" Cato glanced at her. Was she not cold? Or was there an enchantment for that too?

At this, she paused. "Yes, the mask too." She held up the dagger, catching the hilt in her palm. "This too. It burns with fire when used. We could probably get an enchantment on yours too if we—

She cut herself off, suddenly, stilling. He almost ran right into her, but caught himself just in time.

He looked around. Was there something he was missing? The stone path meandered in the shadows of a steep mountain; they banked against the great rocks at its feet on one side, and on the other was an infinite sprawl of meadows and trees. He rubbed his arms faster, breath fogging in the crisp morning air.

"It's cold, isn't it?" She whispered, low.

He gave her an incredulous look. Was she just noticing this now? "Yeah, just a bit." He bit out, caustically.

She frowned. "No, it's—

But then she was darting in front of him, and in a flash of silvery light the dagger had left her hands and pierced itself into a creature of dilapidated flesh. It keeled over, head cleaved in two, and he looked down at it in horror.

It looked so out of place here, in the fine and still wilderness.

It looked like… "Is that a corpse?" He yelped, shocked.

"A draugr," she amended, sounding bitter. She kept a keen eye fixated on the base of the mountain, where cliffs and large buffetings of rocks obscured the view, as she moved towards the body.

Whatever it was, it looked like it was dead… and had been dead for some time.

She pulled the handle out of the remains of its face, and he continued to stare down at it in both morbid fascination and disbelief.

"They're…" she made a vague wave with her hand. "Well, they're dead."

"I can see that." He agreed, faintly.

"You don't see them outside of dungeons, normally," she noted. "They're undead Nordic warriors, buried inside Skyrim's crypts and catacombs."

Katniss took his arm, with a grip far stronger than he had expected, and quickly drew them both off the path and farther away from the mountain, her gaze fixated on the valley.

"Sorry about that," she said, when they were apparently a sufficient distance away. She dropped his arm, and without her hand it felt far colder than he expected. "I was trying to avoid those."

"So there's a lot of them?" He inferred with wide, concerned eyes. Cato didn't feel annoyed with his own fear; he felt it was completely warranted, given the circumstances.

"Oh yes," she replied, as if that wasn't utterly horrifying. "Quite a few. But like I said, it's very rare to see them outside of their catacombs, so it's unlikely we'll have to worry about them, unless we're venturing into the tombs of the dead."

He shudder. "I would prefer not to."

"Me too," Katniss agreed, quiet.

.

.

.

The rest of the journey to Helgen was significantly less interesting after that. Not that Cato was complaining.

The town of Helgen was far smaller than the town they'd been in previously—so infinitely smaller than any District. It may have been smaller than the last town, but it was also far less crowded, and the inn wasn't completely booked solid. He missed all the amenities he'd never paid much attention to back home; what he wouldn't do right now for a heater. Or a microwave—or food that didn't come from a pack. Still, though the inn did not hold a candle to his lodgings in District 2, it was far superior to the wilds outside.

They couldn't actually get a room with two beds, because there were no rooms with two beds, but the one they did have was big enough for the both of them… sort of. It would probably have been the gentlemanly thing to do to offer her the bed and take the chair—except there was no chair, either.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snorted, when he at least made the attempt to sleep on the floor. "You want to die of frostbite?"

She had a very fair point. He really wasn't used to this cold. She'd said that Skyrim was at the northernmost tip of this strange continent called Tamriel, so he supposed that this was probably a normal temperature for the far north. District 2 was most certainly not the far north of Panem—he didn't even know what was, actually.

All this meant that by the time they had readied for bed—after a hot meal, which wasn't even all that good but felt like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted after so long without one—he was already incredibly cold. There was a fire out in the main area outside, but none in here.

This was his excuse when he woke up wrapped around her, the both of them curled tight under the flimsy quilt.

He'd never actually shared a bed with anyone. Well, not the whole night through, anyway. He was no stranger to women, in a bed, that also included him, but never for sleeping. He acknowledged that he should probably move away, but was failing on the moving part. But she was so very warm, and he was already so comfortable. Whatever. He could move away later.

When Cato awoke again he'd somehow managed to get himself even closer, one arm held fast against her, resting on her stomach, his legs tangled in hers and his forehead resting against her neck; one long line of warmth fitted perfectly against him. He didn't think there was an inch of space between them, a place they weren't touching. Even more alarming; she was clearly awake, blinking sightlessly at the far wall.

He pulled away, flushing. "Sorry—

But she didn't seem all that concerned with him at all. This made him pause. What, did she normally share the bed with random male strangers? Well he supposed it was only awkward if you made it awkward, and she seemed to be doing a fine job of being completely indifferent to it.

Katniss rolled over then, onto her back, turning her large, cloud eyes towards him. "District 12," she said, to his unending surprise. "Have you ever been there?"

His brows raised. Had he ever been there? What kind of question was that? Who the hell voluntarily goes to District 12? He snorted. "No, fortunately."

She made a thoughtful noise, gaze moving to the ceiling. She was still close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of her, in the most inviting and intoxicating way possible.

"Why do you ask?"

She swallowed. He found himself very interested in the movement.

"I have no idea," she answered, low and quiet. "I was just thinking about it, I guess."

He gave her an odd look. "That's a really strange thing to be thinking about."

She sat up then, running a wary hand through her hair. It was out of its usual domineering, utilitarian braid, loose curls tousled and haphazard, spilling over her shoulders. Now that she wasn't covered in copious amounts of clothing, he noted that she really was particularly small. He surveyed her closer. Small, but strong. He could see the wiry muscles as she repositioned her weight, the deft dips and shadows down her arm as she dropped it from her hair.

"I was thinking about the fence," she added, as if that wasn't even stranger. "It's never on. There's no current running through it."

Katniss turned to him. "You have to check anyway though, just in case. But if you don't hear the humming, you can slip out into the forest."

He stared up at her, uneasy. "…How do you know all this?"

A conflicted look filtered upon her face, and she carded her fingers through her hair once more. He thought it might be something of a nervous gesture, but the idea of her being nervous—or not completely infallible—seemed preposterous.

"I don't know," she sighed, looking away. It seemed to pain her far more than it did him, and it _really _pained him. Anything she knew about the relationship between this strange world and his own would be really beneficial right now, but she appeared to know just as much as he did.

She got up soon after that, but told him that they wouldn't be leaving for a while so he was free to stay, or do whatever he liked.

He took that as a sign that she didn't need him (or, maybe just didn't want him) wherever she was going. Cato flopped back onto the bed at that. Better for him, then. He was never going to take a bed and a blanket for granted ever again—and would forever take the opportunity to lay in it for longer if it was presented to him. It felt somewhat invasive to simply lay there and watch her dress for the day. Invasive… and intimate. It wasn't as if she had taken much off, or was even revealing skin at all, but there was still something so personal about it; watching her wind her nimble fingers through her hair, until it was settled into a tidy braid once again; slipping on her jacket and armor; leaning down to tie up her boots. He wanted to look away, but found himself incapable.

"If you do go out... don't wander out of the city," she cautioned, before she turned to leave.

"Why's that?" He asked, sitting up slightly.

She spared him a short glance, before tying her mask on. "This place has a history of dragon attacks."

He sputtered. "_Dragons_?"

But she was already gone.

.

.

.

And stayed gone, for most of the day.

He did end up getting tired of the bed—against all rational and logical belief—and got up lazily some time in the late morning. There was real, if not bland, food at the inn, and after that he found himself restless enough to wander outside and brave the thought of dragons. He thought she might have been kidding: the inn keeper shot that thought down really quick. There was, indeed, a history of dragons in Helgen.

Great.

Fortunately he didn't encounter any dragons, or much of anything at all.

The town was far smaller than any he'd ever seen before, squatting in the apex of a small knoll at the base of the large mountain range. The white peaks scraped against the cesious sky, but were all successfully dwarfed by one in the far distance, which seemed to pierce right through the stratosphere and into an entirely different world. He felt rather humbled by it, actually. It was such an indomitable presence, so much larger than his own. After being out here in the wilds for long enough, he had no delusions that the mountain didn't have the capacity to kill him. Mountain vs. Cato—the mountain would win.

Everything here was so grand and unfettered, from the great peaks above to the people wandering below. They lived in a freedom he'd never seen before. Their existence seemed… simple, and surely not as advanced as any of the Districts—but in return they lived just as wildly and untamed as the rest of this place. If there were any laws or rules here in Skyrim, he was wholly unaware of them.

Katniss returned in the late afternoon, dragging the carcasses of three enormous bears in her wake.

As she had told him before, she skinned them all and picked out pieces of meat with a diligent proficiency that spoke of great familiarity with this process. He was both sickened and fascinated with it all, and by the time she was done she had made a wide profit off of two of the pelts, and they had what could have been an infinite supply of dried meat.

By the time this was all finished, the day had whittled away to little embers lined upon the mountains, the sun falling from the sky and leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Cato turned towards the opening in the gates, where the great wild lay just outside of the city. "Are we going to keep going?"

"We could," she debated, reluctant. "But we wouldn't make it far enough to get to Riverwood by nightfall."

And, like him, he could tell Katniss would prefer a bed over the forest any day as well.

She'd kept the last bear pelt as her own, laying it out over them in replacement of the ragged quilt.

It was far warmer under the thick furs, and though he didn't do anything particularly strenuous all day, he still managed to fall asleep under it in a few scant moments. Even underneath the cozy warmth of the bear pelt, he stirred some time in the middle of the night, and found himself tightly wound against her once more.

Again, he found himself unwilling to move. And again, he simply dozed off and promised to remove himself closer to dawn.

Except dawn came once more, and he found himself still pressed against her, nose buried into the soft scent of her hair, even though he was warm enough under the fur that he didn't really need the added body heat. The taut muscles of her stomach flexed underneath his hand, so he knew she was awake as well. Katniss didn't appear to have any interest in throwing him off her and shoving him out of the bed, as he would have assumed would be the logical conclusion.

It's only awkward if you make it awkward, he reminded himself.

"Are you thinking about District 12 again?" He asked, mumbling into her hair.

"Mmm," she replied, eloquently.

They didn't move for some time; he didn't remove his hand from its possessive hold over her stomach, and she didn't pull away.

"The Seam," she said, after such a long period of time had passed he thought she wouldn't say anything else on the matter. "I was thinking about it—and selling off white rabbits."

"Rabbits?"

"Yeah," she affirmed, quiet. "That I had killed, out in the forest past the fence."

He blinked, warm and comfortable and slow. He hadn't been in Skyrim for very long, but it felt like an eternity. Long enough for him to forget that life isn't like this at all; long enough for him to forget that everything they're doing is abnormal.

"All of that is illegal," he pointed out, surprised that this wasn't his first reaction. His first thought was actually to wonder how she had managed to kill white rabbits without ruining the fur.

"I think I was far too hungry to care about the rules," she replied, wryly.

This gave him pause. Why exactly was she thinking on all this? It didn't sound like random, idle thoughts, crossing through the paths of her consciousness.

It sounded like thoughts and moments and feelings—memories.

It sounded like memories.


	3. Ancient Stones

But this in and of itself was not an answer—not even close to one. Especially when the girl whom these memories belonged to had no recollection of ever living through these experiences. It was… frustrating, to say the least. Fortunately the wilds proved to be ample distraction from his gloomy thoughts.

The valley sprawled below them, besotted in a fine mist that crept about the base of the mountain. Silvery streams glinted in the early-morning sunlight, and far out in the distance he could see where they all converged together to create a wide mouthed river, twisting off into the horizon. It was a breathtaking sight.

And that was to say nothing of the woman some paces ahead of him, picking through the rocky path with a dexterity that still humbled him. He'd long since stopped growing irritated with it; he'd stopped thinking of her as an enemy. She wasn't an adversary, and though it was hard to acknowledge his own shortcomings, he could at least respect her for her strength. The unshakeable independence was rather inspiring.

Katniss didn't speak very much, and when she did it was normally to observe something significant. He wondered how one person could become so pragmatic and efficient, to the point even her words were decisive. He wondered a lot about her, actually, kind of all the time.

But of course he would, he reasoned to himself. He'd never met anyone like her; of course he would be curious.

In the filtered, pre-dawn light, one slim hand rose into the air.

"That one," she said, pointing far above. He squinted up into the atmosphere; a string of stars gathered above the helm of a large mountain. Three in a row. He squinted harder. There was one hanging crooked just off the side, so dim in comparison to its twinkling constituents.

"That fourth star always points north," she continued, drawing the line out of the heavens and into the world with her hand. He followed her gesture; large buffeting peaks of great whiteness, off into the endless distance.

"Is it the same?" He found himself asking. "In Panem?"

Katniss paused. "Yes." She said at length.

And after a beat, "Though I suppose the cardinal directions are sort of useless in a place like Panem." She shrugged. "You can't exactly just set out in a direction and travel."

That's true. You'd run into some kind of gate eventually.

His gaze lingers on the closest peak, which still seems eons away. In its silhouette he can make out strange, jagged claws that seem to have unearthed themselves from the bowels of the mountain. Many of them, almost in the shape of—bones. Ribs. It looked like a rib cage, emerging from the earth.

"What is that?" He pointed to it.

She followed his gaze. Katniss made an unfavorable noise. "Bleak Falls Barrow," she answered, darkly.

"What is it?"

"A dungeon." She replied. "A dangerous one, at that. Let's try to avoid it as much as possible."

A dungeon? He swallowed, keeping steady sight on the ribcage of stone. "You mean, like those crypts you were talking about?"

"Yes."

"So there're dead things in them?" And after a beat, he amended, "Or rather, _un_dead things?"

"Draugr?"

"Yeah—those zombie things."

"Draugr." She affirmed, looking amused at his terminology. "Yes, I'm sure there are. The bowels of Skyrim aren't a place for the faint hearted, that's for sure."

Nothing about this place was for the faint hearted. This place could ruin you in a way even the Capitol wasn't capable of. He wondered if this was what it was like in the Dark Ages. Cato had always heard how terrible they were—how everything had been lost to chaos and anarchy, and without order the world was lost. That humanity could not exist without laws and government. But Skyrim wasn't lost. It sure seemed to be lawless, but the people thrived anyhow.

He missed home, desperately. He wanted nothing else than to be in his bed in District 2 once again. Or anywhere in Panem, for that matter.

But there was a part of him—a very small part—that had started to grow… fond of this place. This was a world out to kill you, a world where you had nothing to rely on but yourself. That was terrifying, yes, but oddly freeing. He could get used to this, the anticipatory idea that he could travel in any of the four corners infinitely, no gates, no peacekeepers, no fences to stop him.

"Are you hungry?" The girl snapped him out of his reverie with this.

Yes. But he was starting to get a little bit tired of venison. "I'm alright." Maybe he could make it until the next town—Riverwood, she had said. Hopefully it wasn't too far off.

Katniss spared him a glance, a wry smirk on her face, as if she could see clear through his lie. Though he liked it when her mask was off, he didn't appreciate the patronizing look. She turned around again without a word, drawing an arrow from her quiver. She pulled her bow into position, knotched the arrow, and shot into the morning sky.

A moment later a bird came plummeting out of the stratosphere, landing with a thud some meters ahead of them, arrow clean through the heart.

He shook his head in begrudging amazement. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing her do that so casually.

Katniss stalked over, retrieving her arrow and the bird. She looked over her shoulder towards him. "How do you feel about duck?"

Duck sounded mouth-watering right now.

He waited with anticipation as they moved off the road and onto a small overhang off the side of the path. Close enough to still be convenient, but far away enough to give them a vantage over the surrounding area. He thought it might have been a tactic because of the bandits, but Katniss informed him that pretty much everything that lived in Skyrim was out to kill them. The other people, the bears, the wolves, the cave trolls (_cave trolls?)_ dragons, and probably thousands of other things even down to the insects. The prospect was horrifying, but Katniss did not seem all that concerned. She pointed out that he had a sword, and he clearly knew how to use it. When she put it like that the prospect suddenly didn't sound so endangering.

"You're armed," she shrugged. "You have a weapon: you know how to use it. What else do you need but a sword?"

The idea of wandering the earth with nothing but himself and his weapon left him with an overwhelming pang of _want. _He wanted that. So badly he could almost taste it.

He found himself smiling wryly; "Well, I guess that's true. I'd still need to know how to cook," he gestured to where she had skinned the ducks and roasted them into something approaching tasty, "Feed myself… fend for myself."

This was not the sort of thing he'd ever admit to anyone, of course. But Katniss wasn't just anyone. He was even starting to accept the fact that she may be—slightly—superior to him in certain areas.

"I imagine you didn't need to know any of that in a place like District Two," she says, surprising him.

She's right, of course. District Two citizens want for nothing. He bit into his duck, making a noise of approval at the taste. Food had never even occurred to him as something he needed to be concerned over. Water even less. The only thing he'd ever paid any attention to was fighting; at the very least that skill had some merit in survival. But if there's anything he had learned here, it was that he had many other areas of study he needed to turn his attention to. After all, how much more invaluable would he be in the arena if he could be self-sufficient enough not to rely on the other Careers? They would be nothing without him, floundering without food and water, and with no way of going about getting either. The idea of it elicited his satisfaction: he would be the best.

The boy paused mid bite—this was all to assume he could get back in the first place, of course.

"You still don't know anything about how these two places are connected," he began slowly, tossing his leftovers into the fire.

Katniss met his eyes over the crackling flames, nodding. "Not a thing." She answered, truthfully.

"But you said that you think those people in—in…

"Winterhold," Katniss helpfully supplied.

"Right." He nodded. "Those people in Winterhold could help me. But how do you know that it's even possible?"

"I don't." Katniss replied, flatly. His stomach twists. She wiped delicately at her mouth, finishing up her meal and moving to put out the fire. "But if anyone could help you, it's them. Whatever happened to you… however you managed to cross between our two worlds—well, it doesn't make any sense to me."

"Me either." Cato sighed.

She shrugged. "And whenever things don't make any logical sense—well, it's normally safe to assume there is some sort of magic at work."

"Magic?" He looked up sharply at that. He still wasn't sure what he thought of that; how could magic possibly exist? The whole idea of finding himself on another world was strange enough—but a world where sorcerers roamed the lands, where bows struck with lightning and swords with fire… He couldn't really believe it. Even though he'd seen it in action.

"Magic follows it's own set of rules," Katniss explained, drily. "I'm no mage, but you pick up a thing or two when you live around here. I believe it's actually quite closely related to science."

Not that Cato paid much attention to that, either. He didn't know what made cars move, or trains; or why television sets worked or why barriers stayed put. He always assumed that was worthless knowledge.

"So we won't know until we get there."

"Yes." She looked away, into the bright, watery light. The white river glittered beneath their cliff, sloughing down the ravine.

He studied her closely, carefully. Her hair twisted down one shoulder in a loose braid, bow and quiver fastened to her back. Her belt was lined with small pouches and packs, daggers were strapped to her legs. He swallowed, looking away. She looked… dangerous. And that armor was awfully form fitting.

"You ready?" She looked down at him, the sun a glaring halo lighting her profile in lines of gold.

"Yeah." He stood, following her into the distance.

.

.

.

Katniss insisted that the town was not much farther, so the two embarked long into the night. It was well past dusk when they finally traversed down the mountainous hills and down to the river. In the day the air lay gloomy and cold, the night even more so. Damp and cold mist wandered around their feet as they trudged down the winding pass. Up on the other mountain range across the water, Bleak Falls Barrow clawed into the air as black knives; darkness stark against the dying sun. If it looked this ominous from so far below, he could only imagine what it was like up on the summit.

"Cold?" Katniss didn't wait for an answer, tossing him one of the bear pelts. She had fastened one of her own around her shoulders, clawed limbs hanging off them and dangling on her chest. On her head she wore the head as a hat, the great maw of its jaws framing the crown of her hair. It should have looked utterly ridiculous, but somehow it made her seem all the more formidable.

He took the pelt without protest, mimicking her as he fastened it over his chest.

"There's no magic spell for warmth?" He teased, but only half in jest.

"If there is, I don't know of it." Katniss returned. "I don't know much about the subject." At this, her eyes slid towards him curiously. "You seem pretty interested in it."

He shrugged, defensively. "Yeah, well… it's new, is all. We don't have anything like it back in Panem."

Katniss made a vague noise of agreement.

"Is there anything special?" He asked, after a beat. "About being a mage, I mean. Like, do you need to be a… a wizard, I guess?"

Katniss blinked at the question. The colossal moons made her eyes glow like bright lights. "No—anyone can learn the arcane arts." She said after a moment. One eyebrow rose coolly, "Just _new_, is it?" She smirked.

"It sounds interesting, alright?" He grumbled, wondering why he felt so defensive about it. What was wrong with a little interest in magic? One could hardly blame him! "What, I can't be interested?"

"No, you can." Katniss smiled, mirthfully. "You just didn't really strike me as the type."

He scowled at her.

"Mages are just—very scholarly."

"Are you saying you don't think I'm smart?"

"I don't think you have much interested in theory and academia." She refuted. He had no retort for that… she was right. He hated spending says cooped up inside learning useless things that would never come in handy. "But there are other properties to magic than just that. There are quite a few destructive spells that are very useful for warriors."

This definitely piqued his interest. "Like those bandits that could shoot flames?"

"Yes." She nodded. "And enchanted weapons and the like."

It sounded quite fascinating. Unfortunately, he didn't even know the first place to start. And it's not like Katniss could help him in this regard; honestly he should find it a little reassuring that there were things the girl wasn't outrageously skilled in.

"Do you know any mages?" He asked, idly, picking his way through the darkness. Cato wondered how she could see.

"No, actually." Katniss replied; he stumbled and shrieked like a little girl when he stepped on something soft and squishy, bounding right into her.

"Oh god," he said, horrified. "I think a frog just died beneath my toes."

"Good thing you're not the frog." Katniss snorted. One of her slim hands found his in the dark, tugging him along. It surprised him how small her fingers were—with the spiked gauntles she wore, they looked enormous. Small, and warm… and leading him around a giant boulder he would have ran face first into.

"How can you see in the dark?" He grumbled, insensibly pissy about it; must she be so good at everything?

"You'll get used to it eventually," He could hear the smile in her voice. "If you hunt in the darkness for long enough."

Cato blinked. That's right. Katniss was a hunter. Hell, of course she was a hunter, how else would she have managed to shoot a duck straight out of the clouds? Or kill bears three times her size? Katniss was a predator—and a very good one, at that. She was probably the most dangerous creature on this side of the mountain; maybe even beyond. He wondered why she was so good at it. From what Cato had seen of this world, there weren't a lot of professions like there were back home. He doubted there were system engineers, construction workers, train operators, or even Careers. Maybe this was what she did. He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy book; people still rode around on horses, skinned animals out on the store stoop and clanged swords together and shoveled things into smelters.

He was stirred out of this thoughts by twinkling lights in the distance. Flickering brightness winking far off, like stars. Except they were far too close to the ground to be stars.

"Is that it?" He asked, quiet. "The town?"

"That's Riverwood." Katniss nodded. "Don't expect too much, though. It's not much bigger than Helgen."

So, very small, pretty much.

When they finally crossed the stone bridge onto the other side of the river, there wasn't a soul in sight aside from the guards at the watchtowers. They heckled the two of them quite a bit, until Katniss insisted they weren't 'Stormcloaks'. Cato decided to hang back and let her do it, because he hadn't the slightest idea what was going on.

But by the time they had made it to the Inn, and bartered for a room, he couldn't hold his curiosity for much longer.

"Stormcloaks?" He repeated, once they were in the safety of the inn room. It was just as small and cramped as the last one they had stayed in, and just as sparsely furnished. The bed was even smaller than the one in Helgen; modestly equipped with two pillows and a threadbare blanket, no fire, and a chest hauled up against the bottom of the bed. There wasn't even a chair. Katniss didn't appear all that concerned over it, dropping her pack onto the top of the chest and unfastening her bear pelt. Cato narrowed his eyes at her when she didn't respond. "What the hell is a Stormcloak?"

"Nothing." She insisted, which was so clearly a lie it was laughable. "It's just Skyrim politics, is all. Don't worry about it."

"I am worried about it." He retorted. "Those guards looked like they wanted to run right through you with a pike."

Katniss scoffed. "They wouldn't have the chance." She looked amused at the idea. She sloughed off her pelt, catching his gaze when she slipped it over her head. Whatever she saw there must have changed her mind, for she sighed. "It's—complicated. There are two warring factions in Skyrim right now; the Imperials, and the Stormcloaks. We're in Imperial territory right now, so they're not too keen on Stormcloaks."

He made a noise of understanding. "But why did they think we were Stormcloaks?"

She gestured to their bear pelts. "These are the mark of a Stormcloak General." Katniss revealed.

Cato looked vaguely alarmed.

"Like I said, don't worry about it." Katniss repeated. "You're not even from around here. The both of us—we should just concentrate on getting to Winterhold in one piece."

He nodded absently at that, a thought occurring to him. "Just how far is Winterhold?" He wasn't sure if he'd asked that already. And if he had, he doesn't think she'd given him a proper answer.

Katniss debated this for a moment, looking thoughtful as she loosened her braid. Her hair spilled out in long tangled curls, and one of her hands came up to thread through the dark locks. "Follow me," she said, and then pivoted smartly and left the room. He floundered for a moment, throwing off his sword before he turned to follow her out the door.

She didn't lead them very far; just to the far side of the room where a fire stick crackled merrily in the hearth. The Innkeeper had retired soon after setting them up with a room, looking irritable at having been woken up in the middle of the night to attend to them, leaving the two of them alone in the large hall. Katniss pointed a finger at a tattered tapestry hung above the fireplace. Cato squinted at it, until he could make out faint letters in ornamental script, and fine lines drawn into the browned parchment.

It was a map.

She walked closer until she could press a finger to a depiction of a small town. "This is Riverwood," she explained, finger moving to trace their route. "And down here is Helgen, where we just came from. And further down is Falkreath—where we started." Each of the towns looked some distance apart from them, and were all settled upon the base of an enormous mountain. That must have been the tall peaks they'd traveled around. The Throat of the World, it said. It was easily the biggest mountain depicted on the map.

She drew her hand far up north. "This is Winterhold." She said, gesturing to a town at the very top of the map, by the sea. In comparison to where they had been, it looked some distance away.

"That's far." He noticed, with no small amount of dismay.

"Very." She agreed. "We're traveling clear across the country."

Cato swallowed thickly. "How—how long will it take to get there?"

She made a noncommittal noise. "Depends on a lot of things," Katniss decided on, after a beat. "What sort of opposition we run into—that part of Skyrim is vast and full of dangerous creatures of the far north. But perhaps most importantly, it really depends on the weather conditions."

She spread her hand against the paper, covering a long arch between winding mountain ranges. "We'll have to travel clear through this long valley right here, called _The Pale_—that's the fastest route. At this time of year the plains will be very unforgiving… but that's to say nothing of the mountains. Once we cross it we make for Dawnstar, the port town, and follow the coast to Winterhold. Trying to cross the mountain range at this time of year will be impossible. We'd probably freeze to death even trying."

He nodded grimly. "I see. There isn't any other way?"

Katniss hummed. "Well, instead of going straight north, we could head east first, towards the City of Windhelm, and then from Windhelm head north and it'll be a straight shot to Winterhold. It would take longer, but the conditions are far more amenable."

"What's longer?"

"Weeks." She paused. "Months, even. Windhelm is the Capital of the Stormcloaks. Considering the conflicts going on, that will be a headache in and of itself."

It seemed so odd to be this concerned over travel routes. In Panem, there was a train that went through all the Districts, and it ran through rain, sleet, snow or hail. It didn't matter what the weather was like, life continued on. But in Skyrim, it seemed the people lived at the mercy of the elements.

Cato didn't know anything about travel, or weather, for that matter. Another thing he had never bothered to be concerned over. It's not like the weather would ever be an issue in the Arena, after all.

"What do you think?" He had simply resigned himself into having to take Katniss's lead on most things, so he didn't feel particularly humiliated in having to ask.

"We'll try for Dawnstar, but if it the conditions are too poor, we'll make east for Windhelm."

That sounded as good a plan as any.

They retired soon after that, into the bed that could barely fit him, let alone both of them. Katniss tugged the bear pelt over the both of them, fitted snugly against his side. Cato didn't think he'd ever felt this uncomfortable before; he was acutely aware of every place their bodies touched, even through layers of clothing. Worse still; it was all too easy to imagine what it would feel like to be touching without all those layers.

This wasn't his fault, he thought to himself. He was a teenage boy, after all. It was only natural to have this kind of reaction… and it wasn't as if Katniss was bad to look at. She wasn't the most attractive woman he'd ever seen though, Cato reasoned. He'd certainly been with his fair share of beautiful girls—full figures and unparalleled features. Katniss wasn't that hot, he told himself. This was just a natural reaction, was all. But, this was not at all to say Katniss was unattractive. Not at all. She had the most lovely eyes he had ever seen, a face that managed to entice him and intimidate him at the same time, really great legs… okay, so she was pretty hot. All the other girls he had slept with before were just as hot.

Except none of those girls had ever held his attention like Katniss did. None of them had ever won his respect like she had.

"Cato…"

Her soft voice practically startled him right off the bed.

"Um, yeah?" He returned, in a strangled voice.

"Are you alright?" She murmured, breath tickling against his ear as she watched him with her luminescent eyes.

"Uh—fine." Oh god. Was he really that obvious?

"I know it's a lot to take in," she continued on. "Being here, and all that… so far away from home. In such an unfamiliar place."

Oh. Yeah, that.

He blinked up into the blackness. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's not so bad, though. Really it's just the confusion that I hate the most—how did I get here? Why am I here? Is there any way to get back?"

Katniss was silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry I can't answer any of those questions for you." She returned, helplessly.

"It's fine." He shrugged. "You're doing more than enough."

Except…

A thought occurred to him, one that set him on edge. He rolled over abruptly, facing her. "Why _are_ you doing this?" He scrutinized her closely. "You're going really out of your way to help me here—no one does that without a reason."

She searches him just as closely, before releasing a long breath. "Isn't it obvious?" Katniss turns away from him, lying flat on her back as she ran a hand through her hair. "I want to know as well. About… about my dreams. It seems like my best bet is to follow you, and maybe I'll find some answers."

Cato digested this slowly. He supposed that was a good enough answer. It made sense. She was probably just as confused about her dreams as he was. Why in the hell would she be dreaming about District 12, of all places? Nothing about this made sense.

He drifted off like that, deciding that he was not going to get an answer any time soon, and there was no point getting worked up about it.

.

.

.

He had resigned himself to just waking up in really awkward positions and trying to make the most of it.

Cato wondered how far up north they were now, for the temperature had dropped enormously during the night. Even under the bear pelt he could feel it; any place that wasn't draped in fur had frozen in the space of minutes—and if it wasn't tightly sealed the ice cold air would seep in. Katniss was tucked underneath his chin, facing him, warm breath soft against his neck. He could feel her knees jabbing into his stomach, surprisingly bony, and her arms curled up against her. Even _she_ wasn't immune to this weather.

They both left the warmth with great reluctance, sloughing on their overcoats and weapons and heading out into the dewy morning. They both wore the two bear pelts, the third wrapped up and attached to Katniss's pack.

He didn't notice them at first, too sleep deprived and still feeling like a block of ice, but Katniss stilled in front of him and it finally brought his attention to the situation at hand. There were five guards in front of them, looking like they wanted to point their weapons at them but were thinking better of it as Katniss' bow crackled to life.

"We cannot allow you to continue."

Katniss scowled. "Any particular reason for that?"

"You're Stormcloaks," the man continued, sounding so sure of himself. "We can't allow you to pass."

"Without a price." Another added.

"A price?" Katniss snorted, bewildered and incredulous. "Do we look like we have treasures to offer you?"

"No," the first guard agreed. "But you look as if you'd have no trouble finding some."

Katniss did not reply to this. Cato wasn't sure what to say.

"What do you want?" She bit out, after a moment.

The tallest guard pointed towards the sky. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't pointing to the sky at all, but the tall spires out in the distant mountain range—and an ominous structure built in the eaves of it, shaped like bones.

"In there—we're fairly sure a priceless artifact, called the Golden Claw is in there. This bastard Avrel stole it from the township not a fortnight ago, and we want it back."

"And you expect us to go and get it for you?" Katniss retorted.

"I don't think a couple of bandits will give you much trouble."

"Bandits? That's an ancient Nordic burial site—there's draugr in there."

At the mention of those terrifying undead creatures, Cato paled. Fighting bandits, bears, and wolves—fine. But the undead were a totally different story. Unfortunately, the men before them did not appear to be particularly moved by this. "Not that much different." He said, casually. Not that much different? They were zombies! He could imagine the undead army with far too much clarity.

The hunter narrowed her eyes. "What's so special about this Golden Claw? It must be pretty important if you want to get it back so badly."

"Like I said, it's priceless. Solid gold!"

This piqued Katniss's interest. She gave a quick side glance to him, one he couldn't really decipher. "Solid gold, huh?"

It all happened so fast—he didn't see at first, just heard it. A sharp crack, a flash of light. Like lightning. They were not standing far from them, but she was so swift they still didn't have time to react. It took Cato until the third one went down for him to snap into action himself, felling the fourth guard. Katniss ducked low and shoved her dagger into the last one, before she swiftly wrenched it out and walked past him. He definitely hadn't expected that; and apparently, neither had they.

"Let's go." She said sharply, not particularly hurried, but brisk nonetheless.

He followed her hastily, and they exited out the other side of town as if they hadn't just murdered all the guards in the middle of the street.

"There'll be reinforcements coming to relieve them at nightfall, but we'll be long gone by then." She said, conversationally.

This was not the first time she had killed a living person in front of him, but for some reason it felt far more striking than the last time. Maybe because those were bandits before, and they had attacked them first: it was self defense. This was… well, maybe a bit of self defense, but still startling nonetheless. He'd never killed anyone before. He looked down at his hands. Until now. What did it matter, he thought to himself. He would have killed in the arena anyway,

"Where to next?"

Katniss made a noise of deliberation, before she veered sharply to the left. Towards the mountain peaks.

"Bleak Falls Barrow, of course!"

"What?" He gaped. "Didn't we just kill them so we _didn't _have to go?"

"Yeah," she agreed, amused. "But I want to get that Golden Claw anyway. And to be honest—those Nordic burial sites are full of treasure."

"And dead people." He pointed out.

She shrugged. "Well yes, them too."

He stared at her as if she was crazy. "We need to get money somehow," she harrumphed. "And at this time of year, hunting will be impossible."

Great. Bleak Falls Barrow it is, then.


	4. Night Without Stars

_To the people who know Skyrim: yes Katniss does have a Dragon Priest mask! She has Krosis. And yeah, she's like way too OP (over-powered) for sure; the bow is an ebony lightning bow, and those are fire-glass daggers she uses. _

_For the people who don't know Skyrim, but are curious anyway, there are 8 dragon priest masks in the game, and to get them you have to defeat one of the 8 undead dragon priests—the hardest bosses in the game. So it stands to reason if she has one, she's clearly very accomplished. They all have special properties; Krosis in particular boosts your archery stats, so I thought it fitting. _

* * *

><p>Heading into the ancient stone structure was the last thing Cato wanted to do. Not after hearing about its dangerous depths, and more importantly, the undead that walked the halls.<p>

He looked around; it was a remarkably nice day. The sky above was a quiet, tender blue, speckled lightly with stars in the morning light. The prowling mist seemed to sparkle with the sun, the snow glittered like diamonds and glass, blinding and brilliant. As they trudged up the side of the mountain, he was reluctant to let it go. He had a feeling he was going to come out of that thing and lay himself in the snow, kissing solid ground—if he even got out of there at all. Katniss did not appear all that uneasy about the prospect of hiking into the land of the undead. Actually she had notched an arrow, and shot a mountain bear clean through the head.

The girl walked over to stare down at it forlornly. She sighed. "That would have made an excellent pelt." Katniss noted, sadly. They couldn't carry it in with them, but hopefully when they came out of the crypt the ice and snow will have preserved the body long enough for her to lug it somewhere to sell.

A clang jerked her attention away from the fallen animal; Cato had encountered some bandits. She made no move to help him, simply folding her arms and leaning against the stone cliff, observing him. It was clear to see he was born to fight. Probably trained since infancy, or something very close. He had the instinct for it, surely; that kind of intuition couldn't be taught. He parried the blade of one, dodged the arrow of another, and then threw the first off balance to get under his guard. Katniss's brow rose; the sword was definitely his weapon. She couldn't think of anything better suited. Maybe she had been remiss is getting him the broad sword though—next time they went into town, she'd see to making him a regular sized sword.

"Were you even planning on doing anything?" Cato turned to her, exasperated, once he'd killed them all.

In answer she pushed off the ledge, notching an arrow and shooting it to the cliff above him. He looked up, just in time to avoid a falling body as it dropped from the cliff. Another archer.

He grumbled at Katniss's smug smirk, not even bothering to respond. You could never win with her, seriously.

His debatably good mood fell flat when they finally reached the summit. There were more bandits camped out there, posing an opportunity to let off some steam. But even they weren't enough to distract him from the looming structure above them. Black stone archways rose from the snow, as high as the mountain peak, casting striking shadows against the ground. The entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow spoke of opulence and royalty; at some point in its life, it was clearly a palace fit for kings.

The regal columns and staircases had long since succumbed to the elements, leaving only remnants and a haunting image of what could have been.

Katniss finished up with the bandits, tossing a sack of coins up and down in one hand with a satisfied grin to her face. A good haul then, apparently. She took the stairs calmly, not even blinking as they came to the towering doors. She turned to him, searching him deeply.

"You don't have to come, you know." She said, quietly, surprising him. "No one would blame you; the undead are no laughing matter, and it's normal to be afraid."

He spared her an incredulous look. "You're not afraid." He pointed out.

A smile quirked into existence. "I've been in my fair share of dungeons." She returned, vaguely.

Cato huffed, looking back towards the stone courtyard. She had a point. What kind of rational person with any self-preservation would voluntarily go into a crypt full of the undead? It was perfectly reasonable for him to sit this one out. He looked back at her, observing her just as deeply as she was him. So, what, he would stay back, and let Katniss go alone? He reminded himself that Katniss was more than capable of handling herself; more to the point, she had apparently done it many times before. And yet the thought of letting her descend into the depths of the mountain alone didn't sit well with him. Not to mention, he had this stupid urge to… to impress her, somehow.

Against his better judgment, he shook his head. "I'll be alright."

She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him closely. Finally she shrugged. "If you're sure…"

And then opened the door.

The interior wasn't so bad, was his first thought. Dilapidated, broken and covered in dust, but it was spacious and open and not what he had expected. Clearly it had been ransacked at least a dozen times since it had fallen into disuse, and true to for Katniss motioned for him to duck low, and as they crept further inward he could hear voices. A camp fire casted flickering lights along the stone walls; more bandits. Katniss wasted no time ambushing them, taking two out silently with a knife. He didn't really have the finesse for stealthy kills, so he just jumped over a fallen pillar and took the other two by surprise. Once that was over he had a moment to catch his breath, and truly survey their surroundings. It looked to be the grand entranceway.

"This isn't so bad," he reasoned aloud, staring up into the support beams, wondering how they were still standing.

Katniss snorted. "We're not in the dungeon yet."

He blinked. "What?"

She motioned towards a door on the opposite end from the entrance, locked tightly shut. He swallowed thickly; it was clear that it had been boarded up and covered over many times, as thick steel beams held it tightly shut, and fallen pillars and debris had been pushed towards it… as if trying to keep something out. Or rather, trying to keep something _in_. The beams had been peeled off, and there were scorch marks on the door. Recent ones, from the look of it.

Katniss moved towards it, inspecting the marks before she moved to open it. She paused. "Last chance," she called, turning to him.

He scowled.

She seemed to take this as an answer, smiling slightly as she propped it open with one foot.

He gripped his sword tighter, and followed her into the darkness.

.

.

.

Cato's first thought was that it was far colder in hear than it had been outside. Which seemed strange, considering the interior was protected from the outside elements. Then he remembered his first and only encounter with the undead; how unnaturally cold it had been, how his breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. Katniss stood beside him, and when he turned to look at her he was startled to see her features covered again by that stone mask. It was unnerving, really.

"You alright?" She asked, casually. It was difficult to tell her tone without being able to see her face.

"Fine." He replied, stiffly.

He eyed the path in front of them; ancient stone, forming a winding dark tunnel into the abyss. The dungeon had clearly fallen into disuse long ago, for he could still make out the dilapidated remnants of pillars and altars—but not nearly as dilapidated as the outside.

Katniss moved ahead of him, as silent as a wraith. She made no sound, even when the grating stone around them seemed to shift and close in on them. He followed, far louder than her.

His first encounter with the undead came soon enough. They moved quietly through twisting turns and ominous halls, with voluminous cavern ceilings that seemed to end in the sky. There were candles and torches still lit, he noticed. Ancient scrolls and vases torn about, not to mention dozens of traps still effective. But the true deterrent of the dungeons had made themselves for the duration of their trek—until now. They descended into a narrow, crooked stone corridor, quietly moving down the steps. He heard a growl from behind him, and had a moment to throw his guard up before another heavy sword clashed with his own.

He met the (empty) eyes of his opponent, blue and shriveled and skeletal, and for one horrified moment found himself incapable of moving. A chill shivered up his spine, rendering him immobile. Then he heard Katniss behind him, notching her bow and flinging an arrow just past his head, piercing another one through the head. He jolted back into action then, cutting down the undead man and moving for his companions. Objectively they were not any more or less difficult than the bandits they had faced outside.

But the idea that they were trapped down here, so far from the exit, with nothing but hordes of undead as company was daunting. He looked down, where his hands were still shaking, from both adrenaline and fear.

"Still doing okay?" Katniss asked lightly, lowering her bow.

"I think so," he answered truthfully. It wasn't really the draugr themselves that made it so difficult, rather his own mind twisting his fear into something corporeal. "They weren't… as horrible as I thought."

Katniss snorted. "These are just draugr—the foot soldiers, if you will. Long ago they were just the simple guards and soldiers; the lower we go, the more powerful they'll be."

He whirled around at that. "Seriously?"

"Very much so." Katniss replied, pivoting smartly on one foot and continuing down the path.

They met more undead on the way down, not to mention their fair share of dangerous creatures. There were spiders larger than himself, monstrous trolls, and even ghosts; much to his relief, they all met their end with his sword in the exact same way. There was something reassuring to that, at the very least.

After the fourth or fifth time a horde of draugr found them they had stopped horrifying him on sight alone. He didn't think he'd ever get used to them, or even the idea of them, but he had come to terms with them at the least.

"What… what are they, really?" He asked, after they had encountered at least a dozen of them coming undone from caskets embedded into the walls. He noticed not all of them came to life. Some of them really stayed dead, lying in a festering of dust and bones in their graves.

"Draugr?" Katniss replied, idly. She was kneeling on the ground, tracing patters in the flagged stone floor; tracking the wayward thief who apparently had come in here.

"Yeah."

"They—" She paused. "Well, they're the undead. Skyrim has a long and illustrious history, and I'm afraid I'm not really the best person to tell you about it; I don't know very much myself. As I heard the story, the land was ruled by the ancient Dragon Priests, and their armies of both dragons and humans alike. They all died out a very long time ago, but as you may have noticed, their presence still lingers in the bowels of Skyrim."

"So these zombies were… Dragon Priests?" He repeated, perplexed.

Katniss paused for a moment, before bursting into laughter. "No—definitely not! There were only eight of them, and they are dangerously powerful; I would never recommend searching one out. Or, searching for their graves, at the very least. The undead here were their minions."

Cato swallowed. That was terrifying. He'd made his peace with the idea of Dragons roaming about the skies, but apparently there was a lot more to the story than that.

He shook his head. What did it matter, anyway? It was all ancient history, and it wasn't like he was going to be sticking around here anyway. He planned on finding the first way out of here and taking it, so it wasn't like he needed to know.

"Wait." He paused. "What do you mean, you don't know much yourself? Aren't you from here?"

Katniss stilled. "I…" Her voice was muffled by her mask, but he thought he could hear a beat of hesitation. "I don't know."

He spared her an incredulous glance. "You don't know? How do you not know?"

"I just—I woke up here, one day." She confessed. "By the border of the sea—in Dawnstar, actually. The place we're going."

"You woke up." He repeated, perplexed.

They continued down the silent stone sarcophagus, nothing to accompany them but the flickering gloom. "I don't know how else to explain it." She replied. "A fisherman found me in the sea; they brought me to land, surprised I was even still alive—the water up there is deadly cold. I couldn't remember anything when they revived me."

Cato simply stared at her for a long moment, questions swimming in his mind, answers not forthcoming. "The sea—?" He wondered what that could mean. She washed up in Skyrim from the sea.

She nodded. "The Sea of Ghosts," she explained, barely above a whisper. In the deep, besotted gloom the mask took on a soulless, dangerous quality of light and shadow. "The Northern Sea. The north… well, let's just say if you thought it was cold here, the icy coasts of Skyrim are a whole other level of cold."

"Great." He grumbled. He _had_ thought it was unbearably cold. Apparently he was in for that and much more.

A deep rumbling reverberated from the deeps, shadows and echoes. Cato started at the noise, holding his sword out in front of him as he turned all his attention to the matter at hand. He could ponder about Katniss and all her secrets later; when they weren't hundreds of leagues into the mountain, surrounded on all sides by he undead. They crept farther and farther into the crypt, and he found that the longer they went without encountering enemies the more his trepidation grew. His eyes darted towards the flickering shadows, as if sensing movement; his breath came in shallow, frantic huffs. It was so cold and quiet down here, one could drown in it.

Finally they came upon a narrow, craggy stairwell, broken pillars somehow managing to keep the pass from total collapse. At the bottom was an embellished, intricate door of solid gold. He could recognize the seal on it as something he'd seen quite a bit on their way down here; on tapestries, sculpted into coffins and walls. Katniss narrowed her eyes at it, moving closer to inspect the center of the door.

"What is it?" He asked quickly, darting his gaze back to the top of the stairs, as if waiting for more of the undead to appear at the top.

"Hmm…" Katniss said.

"What?" He turned back around, watching her inspect the door with abated breath. He felt as if the walls were closing in on them, and every second down here was one more second too much.

"It's locked," she announced.

He felt his stomach drop. "Well?" He hissed, frantic. "What are we going to do?"

"Hmmm," she said, again. "There's probably a key around here somewhere—

And Cato did not fancy the idea of back tracking through the swarms of undead in search of a key that could be anywhere.

"—but I can probably pick it." She ended, unearthing a handful of lockpicks from her seemingly bottomless packs and pouches.

She wedged the pick into the lock, pressing her ear to the door as she carefully wiggled it around. Her first one broke, but her second did the trick. The door clicked open. Cato breathed a sigh of relief.

He shouldn't have, though.

The catacombs were even more terrifying. It was as if they had been immersed into a night without stars, so deeply pitched in gloom it felt as if they had entered some strange new world without an exit.

The first room they stumbled upon looked to be the remains of some kind of bandit camp. There was blood all over the place—blood that had been there a long time. He could make out the skeletal remains of humans strewn about the floor, some still shackled to the wall. One appeared to have been dragged away from the others and down into the shadows. Oh hell. The undead had clearly gotten to them. How long would it be before the undead found him?

Katniss surveyed the scene without remark, moving into the torchlight and inspecting the bodies.

"How did they die?" He asked, into the thin air. He was not afraid of death, or murder. But all the same seeing the tortured remains of humans killed by the undead unsettled him all the same. It was as if their fear still lingered in the room, like a tangible presence.

"The draugr, I'm assuming," Katniss replied, moving away from the bodies and over to a stone alter. She swiped a large purple gem out of a stone vase, and grabbed some of the potions sitting on the table.

Cato found himself looking around as well, inspecting their camp. There was a journal of some kind on another table. Curious, he moved closer. His blood ran cold; it appeared to be an account written by one of the dead bandits. The tale was chilling—the group of them fighting their way for survival, being chased down here as the rest of their group died at the hands of the undead. They had finally barricaded the entrances and hid by the locked door. Cato looked up, down into the hall they had just come from. The same door they had come through.

The temperature pitched even colder; a hissing growl echoed down the stone. Katniss looked up sharply, notching her bow and letting loose an arrow into the darkness.

A draugr limped its way out of the hall, glowing eyes narrowed upon them as it lifted up its sword.

Katniss released another arrow, and then another, before it fell to the ground. Cato stabbed the one after it through the neck, which seemed to do the trick.

He could hear more coming from the dank abyss. They were going to die down here, he thought hysterically. Just like those bandits.

His eyes grew wide with terror when at least a dozen of them moved into the light of the room, a small army of undead. Katniss shoved him backwards, so forcefully he stumbled and tripped over one of the dead bandits and went crashing into the wall. Cato hit the wall with a heavy thump, watching with wide eyes as the undead continued to advance on them. Katniss jumped in front of him, her bow in one hand, the other hand holding—

Cato blinked. A candle?

She took the candle and threw it at the ground, before leaping towards him. Cato looked at the floor as it clattered to the ground, suddenly noticing an oily substance coating the flagged stone.

He had a few seconds before the entire room exploded and he threw up his hands to cover his eyes. The noise was deafening, and the fire licked against his skin.

The eruption was still ringing his ears when he finally opened his eyes.

The room was charred black, nothing discernible from before. The undead were all blackened heaps on the ground, burnt to a crisp from the sea of flames. Katniss was by his side, catching her breath. He hadn't realized how fast he was breathing until this moment, halfway to hyperventilating. The oil, he blinked with recognition. She had used the oil to light the ground beneath them on fire, burning them alive. Well, they weren't really alive, but she burnt them to death all the same.

"Hell," he breathed out, shakily. That was close.

Katniss stood up fro her crouch, adjusting her mask on her face. "Come on," she held her hand to help him up. "Let's find this guy and get out of here."

"You were the one who wanted to go down here in the first place!" He hissed at her as they left the room.

"I know." She agreed. "You're the only one who's scared."

"I'm not _scared_—!" He flushed furiously, but was cut off as he ran into something in the dark. He made a muffled yelp, batting furiously at whatever was covering his face.

He wiped his face, grasping at a sticky, clotted substance. Katniss peered at it. "Cobwebs," she said, surprised.

"Great." He groused. Spiders. Just what he needed. Whatever, at least it wasn't more undead.

But maybe it would have been better if it was.

By the time the room opened up again, it was entirely unrecognizable. He could still make out the ornate pillars and decorative designs from the rest of the crypt, but everything was covered in a heavy web of string. Even the floor, he realized, when his feet stuck a bit to the ground.

"Well," Katniss started, idly. "I think I found the guy."

Cato looked up.

In front of them, strung between two pillars was a large wrapping of cobwebs; held up between them was some unidentifiable mass strangled in the webbing. This did not even phase Katniss, who went right up to it and poked it with the end of her bow. The figure did not move. When she peeled away the webbing over his face, it was slack-jawed and empty-eyed, already blue with death.

"I think he's dead." Cato intoned flatly.

Katniss nodded, before she stabbed the webbing with her bow again until she could get to his pockets. After a little bit, a sack of coins and a golden claw fell out.

"Found the claw," Katniss said, cheerfully.

"And we almost lost our lives in the process," Cato muttered under his breath, annoyed.

"I told you, you didn't have to come." He could hear the amusement in her voice.

"Yeah, well, whatever." He scowled. "Can we get out of here now?"

She nodded. "We're in luck." She looked around. "Spiders usually have tunnels that lead up to the surface."

Well that was a relief.

He looked around, searching for any signs of an exit. There was another corridor thick with cobwebs, but that appeared to lead even further down rather than out. He peered upwards, and then stumbled back with wide eyes.

"Katniss…"

The girl paused, following his gaze. An enormous black spider was crouched in the corner of the ceiling, staring them down. It advanced upon them with titanic legs, a predator encircling its prey. Katniss notched her bow, releasing an arrow like a bolt of lightning. The spider screeched, furious, clawing at the weapon embedded in one of its eyes before it directed its ire back towards them. Cato scrambled back as Katniss shot off another arrow, and then another. Her aim, as always, was impeccable, spearing through each one of its eyes with a deadly precision. But it had quite a few eyes, and Katniss didn't have enough time to hit them all.

It only took a split second for him to realize she wasn't going to kill it in time.

It pounced upon them, and just as Katniss was about to duck out of the way and grab for a dagger, Cato stepped in the way, sword in hand. He used the spider's momentum against it to impale it onto his blade, finding himself with the brunt of the enormous beast's weight as it came crashing down onto him.

"Cato!"

He groaned in response. Hell. It was a lot heavier than he had thought it would be. Then again, it was a gigantic arachnid—what had he expected it to weigh?

The carcass was hauled off him, and he found himself disentangled from its many limbs and staring up blindly into the ceiling. He hadn't the chance to look at it earlier, what with fighting for his life, but it really was quite beautiful. Made of limestone and carved with reliefs of great warriors and dragons ravaging the mountains. Dragons were terrifying. It was still impossible for him to come to terms with the fact that they existed, and were apparently even more terrifying than he could have ever imagined. Now that he thought on it, this whole place was beautiful. Nothing back on Panem had this much character; everything was so utilitarian, cold and impersonal. Made by machines. This wall looked as if it had been painstakingly and lovingly crafted by hand—as did everything else in this godforsaken place.

"Are you alright?" Katniss peered down at him.

"Um?" He turned his attention towards her. He smiled brightly. "I'm peachy."

"Oh no…" Katniss's brow furrowed as he continued to smile up at nothing. Her gaze snapped to the monster she'd just thrown off him—a frost spider. They were known for their poisons. Fortunately they weren't deadly, but still rather inconvenient. "Hold on, Cato," she murmured, rummaging around her packs. "I know I have an antidote somewhere in here…"

"An antidote for what?" His head lolled to the side, as he continued to inspect her.

She didn't answer, attention focused on her nimble fingers as they flicked through all her various items. Cato watched her quietly for a few moments, feeling humbled. "Your hair looks like fire," he said, after a moment.

"Hmm?" Katniss replied, distracted.

"Like fire," he repeated. "In the light."

And it did. In the low warmth of the torchlight her hair had taken on a brilliant, burning light, gold bleeding down the edges, catching at the drifting flyaways around her face, the underside of her curls. He wanted to reach out and touch it.

"That's the poison talking." Katniss brushed him off, brandishing a little blue bottle. "Alright," she popped the stopper. "Drink up."

"What is it?" He asked curiously.

"Apple juice," she replied, bland.

He shrugged, before swallowing it all in one go. "Ugh," he made a face. That was not apple juice.

"It'll take a second to start working." Katniss told him as she got to her feet, hauling him with her. This was no small feat, as he easily towered over her and probably weighed twice what she did. "In the meanwhile, let's get out of here."

"Great idea," he agreed, slowly, eyes closing. "How are we doing that again?"

Katniss looked up. "There."

Cato's head lolled upwards as well. In a crumbling corner of the ceiling two large pillars had crashed into each other, creating a small dark space between them. It was almost entirely covered in spider web. Katniss hauled his unmoving body over towards one of the pillars, lugging him as one would lug a sack of potatoes. He would be more affronted about this, but he couldn't feel his limbs anyway. After a beat it started to feel rather prickly—as if he had somehow managed to simultaneously get every one of his limbs to fall asleep. There was a brief moment of pain when the sensation almost got unbearable, and then Cato could almost feel his blood running again as his arms and legs warmed over, and started to respond to him again. Poison. Hell. He had always assumed that if he died it would be in the arena, and it would be a grievous battle wound obtained with great theatrics. It occurred to him then that there was just as highly a probability that he could die by poison as well. Good to know, he thought grimly. If he ever managed to make it out of this bizarre world, he would make good use of this experience.

"Feeling up to a climb?" Katniss looked down at him, as he struggled to stand upright.

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for some climbing?" He snapped, rather waspishly. He blamed his bad temper on his incapacitated state.

She didn't respond to that, probably ignoring his sorry state or brushing it off as him being pissy and foul because he got poisoned by a sider. Which was true.

"A spider." He scowled. "A spider, of all the fucking things…"

Katniss leapt up onto the pillar, looking like some kind of long and graceful jungle cat as she stalked up the incline. "At least that poison was reversible," she pointed out. "If we had gone farther down… well, let's just say spiders would be the least of our problems."

"What's a few more zombies after an oversized poisonous spider?"

She looked back at him as she reached the top, staring at him flatly. "The farther down we go, the more formidable the zombies will get. The last thing we need is to find a Draugr Overlord - those ones can still use magic."

He shuddered at that. Magic wielding zombies. Great. Could this place get any crazier?

Katniss crouched down, holding out her hand for him as he approached the top ledge. He swatted her away, not quite feeling up to the help. She must be getting used to him because she didn't even bat an eyelash, simply shrugging before returning to the lead.

Her daggers burned through the sticky webs matting the floor and walls, until with a great plume of smoke she revealed the passage they had seen from below. It looked absolutely unsanitary, but at this point Cato would take what he could get.

He wanted to collapse onto the snowy ground the moment it became visible.

Instead he threw his arms up into the endless sky, feeling relief sag against his shoulders as he stared up into the open light of day. Sunlight. It felt as if it had been an eternity since he had last seen it. Cato had to squint to make out the world around him, the snow so brilliant that everything blinded him. Katniss unhooked her mask, letting it fall into her hand as she closed her eyes and breathed in a lungful of cold, crisp air. Apparently he wasn't the only one affected by the claustrophobic depths.

Her eyes fluttered open, gray green and as bright as the sun.

Finally she dipped a hand into her pocket, hauling out the golden claw. It was the size of her hand, and sparkled in the sunlight; little red and blue jewels were emblazoned down the sides.

He drew closer, looking at it curiously. "How much do you think it'll go for?"

"A thousand gold, at least." She answered, looking triumphant.

He rose a brow. "Is that good?"

"That's great." She said, cheerfully. "Along with all the gold I got from the dungeon, I'd say we made out like bandits."

Cato nodded, not quite sure what to make of it. He had never thought much on money; survival had never been an issue for his family. It was never something he ever had to worry about, had ever had to live without. But it felt as if he could understand its value now; how important and necessary it would be for their journey.

"Great. So where do we sell it off?"

He assumed they couldn't go back to the town they had come from.

"Not Riverwood." She snorted, confirming his assumption. This high up on the mountain, it felt as if all of Skyrim unfurled around them, until it ended in the sky itself.

He turned around, simply admiring the world washed in light. Behind them was an even taller mountain - the same one which seemed to dwarf the earth itself, still towering over them even from this height. He could see the little town they had come from at the base of the mountain, small specks of wooden buildings, smoke pillars rising into the atmosphere. A river wound its way around the mountains, diving off past the town before splitting in two; one leg ran off into the distance. The other leg roped around the largest mountain, disappearing from sight.

He turned back to her, raising a hand to block the sun. "Where to now?"

Katniss pointed out towards one of the river branches - the one that went off until he couldn't see it any longer. "That way."

"We follow the river?"

She nodded. "We follow it to Whiterun." If he looked hard enough, he could see where the plains gave way to sloping hills. Atop one of the higher slopes was what appeared to be a small town. "We can pawn it off there for more supplies."

Cato sighed, suddenly realizing that it was still a long way before they stopped for the night. It seemed as if they had spend days down there, and yet it had only been a few hours. There was still plenty of daylight to go by.

He looked to their feet.

They were standing on a relatively stable cliff, but only a few paces out it gave way to the rocky edge of the mountain. He didn't fancy having to climb down it, but he couldn't see any other way out of here.

Katniss gave him a look of commiseration, as if reading the thoughts right off his expression. But then she was turning away, picking her way through the craggy terrain, making for Whiterun.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the typos - I've started to use google docs, which doesn't automatically correct my easier spelling mistakes, so I can only imagine how much worse it will be now lol<em>


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